Nowhere to Hide

by Terry Odell

  Graham frowned. Women usually went for the uniform, and if that wasn’t enough, he’d turn on the Irish charm. He’d discovered most people tended to babble when they spoke to the cops. Colleen had given him no more than absolutely necessary. Experience with the law? He’d check her out. As he went to enter her name in the database, he realized he wouldn’t have to fabricate excuses to see her. He had a name, but he hadn’t bothered asking her how she spelled it. Okay, there were only two choices, but any excuse worked for him.

  After another run through his patrol sector, he’d grab a quick bite at First Watch on Sand Lake, which would put him minutes away from the Walters’ house. Melinda usually worked the lunch shift. But instead of Melinda’s face, he saw Colleen’s, with those haunted green eyes.

  Laughter erupted from the room. The sound of his name, coupled with Clarke’s guffaws, eradicated Colleen’s image like wind-blown storm clouds. Dammit. It had been five years. He was a damn good cop, and he was going to beat Clarke into CID no matter how many times the arrogant bastard tried to dredge up his past.

  *****

  Colleen fished through the contents of her carryon. A long-sleeved polo had seemed reasonable when she’d checked the Orlando forecast before leaving Oregon, but apparently nobody told the weather gods it was supposed to be in the sixties here, not the eighties. She flipped on the television and surfed until she landed on the Weather Channel. A perky meteorologist pointed to a brightly-colored map and talked about approaching fronts and heavy rain. Great. Hot and rainy?

  She found an elastic, pony-tailed her hair and slung her hobo bag over her shoulder. Time to meet the landlady and get on with her new life.

  Walking toward the main house, Colleen noticed the skies darkening. Maybe the weather gurus had it right for a change. She quickened her pace and followed the flagstones to the front door. Before her finger reached the doorbell, the door cracked open on a security chain, and a woman’s face, etched with the wear and tear of sun exposure, peeped through the opening.

  “You must be Colleen McDonald.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  The woman shut the door and Colleen heard the rattle of the chain being released.

  “Come in. No point in air conditioning all of central Florida. I’m Doris Walters. I trust everything’s to your liking.”

  Colleen stepped inside. “Well, the airline lost my luggage, and the rental car agency was out of cars, but the apartment’s fine. I was hoping you could tell me where I can find a grocery store. And if there’s a bus stop.”

  The woman gave a perfunctory head bob. Tiny, no more than five feet tall, thin as a rail, with a cottony tuft of white hair billowing around her head. A mobile Q-tip. She wore lightweight green slacks, a coordinating yellow and green polo shirt, and green canvas sneakers. She was impeccably made up, with subtle blush, pink lipstick and gray eye shadow. Her pale blue eyes, enlarged by her wire-rimmed glasses, held Colleen captive. Her cheeks heated at the obvious scrutiny, and she automatically glanced down to make sure her shoes matched and she hadn’t left her zipper unfastened.

  “I need to run some errands myself,” Mrs. Walters said. “If you like, we can go together.”

  “That’s great. Thanks.”

  “I hope we can beat the rain. I need my purse. I’ll be right back.” She twisted the deadbolt in the front door behind Colleen, then disappeared down the hall.

  Colleen surveyed the room, noting the spare southwest décor. The earth tones were nothing like the little-old-lady green-and-yellow florals that overwhelmed her apartment.

  “Here we are,” Mrs. Walters chirped when she reappeared. “Follow me.” She pivoted and bustled away, dangling a set of keys from her fingers.

  Bemused, Colleen followed the woman through the living room, dining room, into a spacious kitchen and out a door into the garage. Mrs. Walters stood on tiptoe to press the button for the door remote, then held the keys out to Colleen. “I hope you don’t mind driving. I’m waiting to get back my driving privileges. You have a couple of fender-benders when you’re twenty, nobody cares. Do it when you’re my age and they yank your license.” She opened the passenger door of a cream-colored Buick Park Avenue and slid onto the front seat.

  Colleen opened the driver’s door and settled in behind the wheel, tossing her bag onto the backseat. Mrs. Walters sat with an oversized green tote perched on her lap like a cosseted pet, and Colleen backed out of the garage. The door lowered, and Mrs. Walters set the remote in the console between them.

  “Okay, Mrs. Walters. Where to?”

  “First, call me Doris. I was Mrs. Walters when I taught sixth grade and I’d rather forget most of that.” She gestured down the road. “There’s a nice little shopping center about three miles from here. Bank, market, cleaners—you name it. Turn left at the corner.”

  As Colleen drove, she decided there was no point in pretending this morning hadn’t happened. “You know, a deputy came to my place.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Doris shift in her seat. “He said he’d knocked at your door. Something about a Jeffrey.”

  “I know. But nobody gets me out of bed at that hour.”

  “He said Jeffrey’s daughter was trying to reach him. Is Jeffrey your son?”

  “Nephew. That Kimberly is a nuisance. Always whining about something.” She unclicked her seatbelt. “This is it. Turn right.”

  In the parking lot, Colleen obeyed Doris’ command to park near the clock tower, glad there was a space available. Otherwise, she had the feeling Doris would expect her to create one.

  “I’ve got eleven-fifteen,” Doris said. “Meet me here at one. That should give me enough time.”

  Colleen compared the time on her watch, realizing she hadn’t changed it to local time yet. She made the adjustment, then strode after Doris. The skies were almost black now, with silver light shining through the breaks, although it was still warm. The Christmas decorations on the light posts in the parking lot seemed incongruous with the new climate. She gave an inward chuckle. Florida or Oregon, Christmas promotions jumped onto the scene as soon as Halloween passed.

  “Are you sure you don’t need help with anything?” Colleen asked.

  “Because some judge decided I can’t drive anymore doesn’t make me helpless, young lady. You do your shopping, I’ll do mine. I’ll see you at one.”

  Chapter Two

  Colleen felt much better after stuffing down a sandwich from the grocery store deli counter. Piling her bags into the trunk of Doris’ car, she scanned the parking lot. A head of white hair bobbed between the row of cars, turning one way, then the other. Colleen stepped beside the car and waved. Doris stopped for a moment, then smiled and hurried toward the Buick. When she got there, Colleen opened the passenger door.

  Doris set several plastic shopping bags at her feet, and her now-bulging tote reclaimed its place on her lap.

  Colleen paid more attention to the neighborhood as she retraced her route. Moms pushing strollers and people walking dogs. Stopped for a red light, she saw a YMCA to her left, its glass walls revealing people busy on treadmills and stepping machines. Might be worth checking out. No need to get soft.

  “I guess the rain held off for us,” Colleen said. She punched the remote, pulled into the garage, and turned off the ignition.

  “It happens all the time. It will be raining cats and dogs in one place and sunny three blocks away. That’s why I always carry one of these.” Doris reached into her tote and brandished a collapsible umbrella.

  Green and yellow. Colleen smiled. “Where I lived, it rained all the time.”

  “Ha! I’ve been to that part of the country. You call that rain? You wait. Here, if the raindrops don’t raise bruises, it’s not worth mentioning.” Doris opened her door. “Thanks for the ride. I’ll shut the garage from inside when you’re done.”

  Colleen popped the trunk and started collecting her bags. At a flash of motion she turned. A white cruiser with green-and-gold striping pulled along the curb in front of t
he house. She recognized Harrigan as he got out of the car and began walking toward them.

  “Looks like the deputy came back,” Colleen said to Doris. She waited, telling herself it was to make sure nobody took unfair advantage of the woman. Otherwise, she wouldn’t get within ten feet of a cop.

  By now Harrigan had reached the garage. He gave Colleen a quick nod and a smile. When he took off his sunglasses, his eyes were as blue as she remembered, their irises ringed in black.

  He turned his gaze to Doris. “I’m Deputy Graham Harrigan, Mrs. Walters. I came by a little after seven. I rang the bell, but nobody answered.”

  “I didn’t hear any doorbell,” Doris said. She gave the deputy a hasty once-over and started cleaning her glasses with the hem of her shirt.

  “Mrs. Walters,” Harrigan said. “Your nephew is Jeffrey Walters, correct?”

  “Yes.” Doris squinted. “He’s not home.”

  Harrigan pulled out his notebook before continuing. “His daughter said he’s not returning her calls. She asked us to make sure he’s all right. Anything you can help me with?”

  “Daughter?” Colleen heard the scorn in Doris’ voice. “You mean Kimberly?”

  “That’s right,” Harrigan said. “Kimberly Simon.”

  Doris raised her head to glare at Harrigan. “Pah! Stepdaughter. Actually, she’s his ex-stepdaughter. Jeffrey married her mother when Kimberly was twelve. The marriage lasted eight years, and I was surprised it held together that long. No matter. Kimberly wants his money. She’s always asking, saying it’s for her kid. Five’ll get you ten she squanders it on herself, or bails out her husband. He’s a real loser. Gambling debts up the yin yang.”

  Colleen watched Harrigan write as Doris spoke. Why weren’t his eyes on Doris? Body language and tone of voice were more important than taking notes. What kind of a cop was he?

  “Well, Mrs. Walters,” he said. “That’s all very interesting, but it doesn’t tell me where Jeffrey is. If you can put me in touch with him, I can call Mrs. Simon and put her mind at ease.”

  “Pah! Her mind won’t be at ease until he gives her another handout. But you can’t reach Jeffrey. He’s in Alaska.”

  “Alaska?” Colleen asked. She waited for Harrigan to push, but he remained silent. None of her business. He was the cop.

  “Yes, Alaska. He left about six weeks ago. He buys and sells land, you know. There’s a lot of that in Alaska.”

  Harrigan spoke. “Do you have any way to reach him? Hotel, phone, anything?”

  Doris took off her glasses and held them aloft, peered through them, exhaled on them, then wiped the lenses again. “E-mail, maybe. He has a cell phone, but I don’t think there’s much service where he goes. I had an e-mail from him last week, so you can tell Miss Moneygrubber he’s fine.”

  “Do you think you could give me his cell number? Or his e-mail address?” Harrigan asked. “The name of his company? Someone he works with?”

  “What do you need all that for? I told you, his cell phone won’t work, and I had an e-mail from him. I don’t know the address. I click his name in the computer and it’s automatic.”

  Colleen could see the frustration building in Harrigan’s face. She knew as well as he did that he couldn’t force Doris to say anything, but she sympathized with him. Twenty minutes with Doris had been enough for her. Must be a carryover from the woman’s schoolteacher days, the way she spoke and tolerated no rebuttal.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Walters,” Harrigan said. “I’ll let her know.” Doris walked through the garage to the house and closed the door behind her. Harrigan turned to Colleen. “Nice to see you again, Ms. McDonald. If you don’t mind, I have a couple of questions for you as well.”

  Her mouth went dry as paper. Colleen managed to swallow. “What can you possibly want from me? I’ve been in town all of one day.”

  “It’s routine. Background. Let me help you with your bags. It looks like it might pour any minute.” He reached into the trunk and lifted several of the plastic shopping bags.

  As if on cue, a curtain of water moved from the street toward the house like a marching band on parade. “What the hell?” Colleen muttered.

  She grabbed some bags and started jogging toward her apartment, Harrigan right behind her. Head down, she almost ran into her suitcases stacked outside the door.

  “Surprise, surprise,” she said. “The airline delivered the bags when they said they would. About all they did right. Then again, they lost them to begin with.” She fumbled in her purse for her house key.

  Harrigan set the plastic bags down and hoisted the suitcases. “Let me get these for you.”

  By the time she got the bags inside, he was already trotting to the car for another load. Somewhere, she knew, she’d packed an umbrella, but what did it matter? She was already soaked. She dashed after Harrigan.

  By the time everything was in the house, they were both waterlogged. “Doris was right,” Colleen said. “Florida rain plummets. I’ll get you a towel.” She toed off her sneakers and went into the bathroom. When she returned, Harrigan was still on the tiles in the foyer. Nice of him not to muddy the carpets. She tossed the towel in his direction.

  As he wiped himself down, she followed his gaze around the apartment. “Landlady seems to like green and yellow,” she said.

  “You don’t strike me as the greenhouse type.”

  “Once the rest of my stuff gets here, it’ll feel more like home.”

  He dried his hands, then folded the towel and held it out.

  “You didn’t have to help, you know,” Colleen said. “One trip, and I was as wet as I could get.”

  “Typical Florida rain, although storms like these usually hit in the summer. It’ll be gone soon. Where are you from? The desert?”

  Was he being polite or pumping her? “Out west.” She took the towel from his outstretched hand, careful not to make contact. “You said you had some questions. I’m going to put away my stuff and you can fire away.” For an instant, her eyes met his and she hurried to the kitchen.

  He leaned against the door. When he spoke, his tone was pure interrogation. “What can you tell me about Doris or Jeffrey Walters?”

  Colleen concentrated on unpacking bags and lining everything up on the counter until she decided where she’d put it. “Nothing. I already told you that.” She saw Harrigan pull out his notebook, shake water droplets off, then wipe it on his trousers. He flipped through some pages.

  “What division are you in, Deputy?” Unless things were totally different in Florida, detectives wore plainclothes, not uniforms.

  “I’m a Patrol officer, ma’am. Nobody was home this morning, so I came back. A routine precaution. If anything looks funny, it’ll go to the Criminal Investigations Division.”

  “What else do you want, then?” She made no apology for the irritability in her tone. “As you can see, I’m kind of busy.”

  “I promise I won’t bite and I’ll be gone before you know it. The daughter says Jeffrey was going to put Mrs. Walters in a home. That she’s starting to forget things. You notice anything?”

  Colleen started putting the perishables in the refrigerator. “No. I drove her to the shopping center, we each did our own thing, and I drove her home. She seemed perfectly fine. Just … just like what you saw. She says something, that’s the end of it.”

  He crossed to the table and started making notes. “Yeah, I noticed. Moving on. How did you come to rent this place?”

  “A friend told me about it. She said Doris needed a tenant, and I needed somewhere to stay. The rent was reasonable, and I didn’t want some huge apartment complex.”

  “Who signed your rental agreement? The tax rolls say the property is in Jeffrey’s name.”

  “Doris.” Colleen pondered that one. “So you’re saying maybe I don’t have a legal right to be here?” She forced herself to meet his eyes. They were the color of the sky right after the sun went down. And that dark rim around the irises made the blue all the deeper.


  He shrugged. “I have no idea what authority she has. It’s probably fine. I want to find Jeffrey Walters so I can get Mrs. Simon off my back.”

  The way she wanted this deputy off hers. “I still have unpacking to do. Are we done?”

  “Almost. A couple of questions about you and I’m gone.”

  “Me? What do you want to know about me? I told you, I’m brand new here.”

  “Let’s start with the easy ones. How do you spell your last name?”

  She gave him a half-smile. “M small C.”

  “Thanks.” He flashed a full-sized grin. “That wasn’t so hard now, was it?”

  Her smile widened of its own volition. She forced it away. Too easy to succumb to his charming good looks. “Go on.”

  “You have a driver’s license?”

  “Yes, I do, as a matter of fact. And I’m smart enough to know you can’t make me show it.” She hesitated, debating how much to tell him. He wanted to play detective, he should be able to figure it out if he dug hard enough, but she saw no reason to hand it to him. “Get real, Harrigan. You can’t think I have anything to do with the missing man. You’re doing personal pumping here, right?” He changed his smile into a look of detached professionalism. His embarrassed expression told her she’d hit home.

  “Ms. M small C, I’m doing my job.”

  She hesitated. “Okay, but I decide when this interview is over. I used to work at a place called Pine Hills. That’s all you’re getting. What about you?”

  “What?”

  “Turnabout’s fair play. To use your terms, one Celt to another, will you answer my questions too? Starting with where you’re from?”

  He smiled. “San Francisco. My turn. What brings you to Orlando?”

  “Delta Airlines,” she snapped. “As I’m sure you deduced from the luggage on the porch.” His expression hardened at the testiness of her reply. Too many of her own encounters with chip-on-the-shoulder citizens mellowed her tone. “Sorry. That was rude of me. I wanted a change, okay?” She grabbed some cans and stuck them in a cabinet. “Enough, Deputy. Interview is finished. I have things to do.”